


A Dancer in Almyra

by JosephThropp



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon - Freeform, Cultural Differences, Dancing, Flirting, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23537968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosephThropp/pseuds/JosephThropp
Summary: A year after the war, Claude is hard at work continuing to reshape Almyra. The people are still a little too eager to celebrate even the victories of unnecessary battles, but that's alright. Claude will happily take the opportunity to keep warming Almyra up to the prospect of welcoming in foreign cultures. His latest attempt to do so includes a feast with not just the traditional cuisine of Faerghus, but an esteemed troupe from there hand selected by King Dimitri. Among them is a face Claude could swear he knows.
Relationships: Nader & Claude von Riegan, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 69





	A Dancer in Almyra

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by [this gorgeous fanart](https://twitter.com/pumpkinperyton/status/1229213377760645122?s=20) I found via Twitter, after the artist so generously gave me permission to write something based off of it! I originally finished up something in March closer to when it was uploaded, but then the World Situation started to rapidly diminish and I just didn't have the capacity needed to spruce it up. Finally gained some semblance of functionality back recently, though, so I finished it up. Hope you enjoy, and that it's not painfully obvious which places are the ones where I worked on it roughly a month later ahahaha :')

For all that he’d done to mold and change Almyra for the better since taking the throne, there were a few things Claude had come to accept he wouldn’t have a hope of changing for a long long time. Long upheld traditions weren’t something that could be forgotten overnight, or even over the course of a year. It was a good thing he was diplomatic enough to understand that, as every adviser he’d bent the ear of agreed that pulling back the ever-present Almyran troops from the border wouldn’t go over well with anyone.

It was a point of contention, Almyra’s presence in Fódlan’s Throat. Claude’s time in Fódlan had of course improved his relations with House Goneril, but not enough to cool tensions so easily. Squabbles about bandits crossing borders still popped up frequently enough to be a nuisance, and the Almyrans were a proud people that weren’t eager to give one inch. As such, bloody battles at the Throat hadn’t disappeared as Claude hoped would happen once he’d gained the power to change it. 

If nothing else, he could at least take pride in the reforms he had been able to enact. Child soldiers and involuntary conscription were no longer part of the picture, and prisoners were taken whenever possible. Claude never had to worry about any of them being held for too long, either. Their improved relations with House Goneril were at least good for that. Much easier with Almyra’s perception of Fódlan improving with each passing day. 

With the continued battles along the border came the continued calls for celebrations. Almyra still loved her strength, and the feasts that followed any sort of skirmish or battle were as great as ever. Claude had attained quite an adeptness for hosting these feats, even if he was never quite as enamored with them as the people were. 

Even if he wasn’t big on celebrating unnecessary battles though, Claude was nothing if not resourceful. Hosting the feasts at the palace was a conscious decision, one that allowed him to stealthily implement more and more goods from the outside world. Be it food from Dagda, performers from Enbarr, even decor from his old home of Derdriu, Claude had tried it all. 

Much of the same was happening with this latest feast. Claude had put in the work to have goods from Faerghus imported. Dimitri had become a steadfast ally since taking the throne, and securing some traders and merchants that would work with Claude was a trifle for him. Even so, Claude was grateful he’d found the time to do so while attending to more important matters in Fódlan. Apparently, Dimitri was as committed to breaking down borders as Claude himself. 

More interesting than any of the food or other spoils provided, though, was something else Dimitri had mentioned in the letter that he’d detailed everything in. Apparently, he’d selected a troupe with his personal recommendation to make the trip as well. When the assorted items all arrived, there’d be a highly acclaimed dancer with them it seemed. 

Well, so be it. Getting performers from outside Almyra was typically a little harder anyway, and Claude always enjoyed seeing different styles of dance. 

* * *

“Hey, kiddo! You’re looking pretty pensive, considering the circumstances. Didn’t anybody tell you that this is a feast?” 

Nader had approached Claude in the corner of the courtyard, noting how he’d been lingering on the edge of the crowd. Amongst a throng of excited soldiers, the king was comparatively somber. Not so much as a drink in his hand as he watched over the proceedings looking somewhat like a tired parent. 

“Yes, I heard that somewhere. I scrambled at the last minute to throw a little something together. Do you think it’s going over well?” Claude looked up to Nader with a smile, getting a laugh and a slap on the back from his retainer as an answer. 

“Well, I’m no connoisseur, but the grub is good!” Nader lifted up a small confectionery he’d carried with him, seemingly delighted on how his hand was dwarfing such a small pastry. The small bun rolled around his palm, spreading powdered sugar all around it. “These little things are going fast! They’ll be gone before you can even make it through the crowd!” 

Ha. That brought back some memories. “Ah, the sweet buns. Yep, they’re a baking staple in Faerghus. Just as popular with Almyrans, too, I see.” Claude reached out to grab the bun from Nader’s hand, regarding it with a grin as he reminisced. “They made these a lot back in the Academy. I don't know what it was, but some of the people there just went crazy for these.” 

The bun was swiped back by Nader after a moment, who shoveled it into his mouth. “You just don’t have the mature palate required for good sweets, kid.” 

A remark about Nader’s own maturity while he talked through a mouth full of dough and sugar was on the tip of Claude’s tongue, but he ultimately decided against saying it aloud. He settled instead for looking through the crowd towards the arranged tables, still flush with food. Just as Nader had said, people were still swarming around the desserts. 

“Huh. I’d have thought the meat would be the thing that went over big. Faerghus' big game is really something else.” 

“How’s that?” 

“Probably the climate. It gets pretty cold and miserable there, so they have to get big and fat if they wanna survive those winters.” Funnily enough, Dimitri had once made a quip about many nobles of Faerghus doing the same. At which point he also insisted that Claude never repeat that little turn of phrase to anyone else. 

“Ha! Maybe I’ll leave you to deal with the troops while I take a visit out there! I’d gladly take a break from this damn heat!” Nader’s sharp elbow prodded into Claude’s side playfully, though Claude himself could only bite his tongue and lament that his retainer never seemed to know his own strength. “Say, aren’t we supposed to be getting some entertainment courtesy of Faerghus, too?” 

“That we are. I actually didn’t have any part in picking it, this time. It’s a traveling troupe that’s apparently won the praise of King Blaiddyd. That’s all the good king would tell me.” Privately, Claude might’ve questioned what Dimitri’s tastes might be bringing him today. It wasn’t to say that Claude wasn’t appreciative of the arts and aesthetics that Dimitri did enjoy, just a little skeptical of their potential mass appeal. Something about the culture of Faerghus had always seemed a bit...repressed, so to speak. 

“Well, whatever he’s got for us, I’m sure they’ll be fine. Half these bastards are one drink short of passing out, anyway!” Nader wasn’t wrong. And the thought was enough for Claude to laugh aloud. Well, if they were going to save the drinks for special occasions, then he supposed it was easier to look the other way when some people got a little overzealous. 

Claude reached to pat Nader’s shoulder, finally ready to really partake in things a bit. “I’d better start catching up then. Try to stay conscious until we get to the show, yeah?” With that, he slipped in between the many bodies milling about, eyes already set on the plate of tenderloin around the center of the spread. 

* * *

It wasn’t very long until the feasting began to wind down, everyone having had a chance to decimate the lines of dishes. It was at that point when people began to clear a space, aided by the troupe in charge of the night’s activities. They must’ve been travelers. Even among so many warriors in the splendor of a castle courtyard, they had no qualms about pushing bodies aside to create some ample room. 

It took a bit of doing, but eventually the Almyran troops had been moved to one side while things finally got under way. A small band began to warm the crowd up with a lively melody, a perfect setting for when the dancers finally stepped up into the cleared part of the courtyard. Two women and one man, each looking nothing less than provocative. 

Claude could still remember what passed for Church-sanctioned dancer’s attire back in Fodlan. Very modest, with naught but a slit up the leg to so much as suggest any amount of tantalization. If not for the ornate scarves and flowy sort of material, it wouldn’t look like any kind of garment designed to highlight the movement of the body. 

The attire these three dancers wore was entirely different from that aesthetic. 

The first thing that caught the king’s eye was that these outfits didn’t shy away from showing skin. They embraced it. What material was there was either preserving some semblance of decency, or drawing the audience's eye all across the dancer’s body. All three had purple performance briefs, plus equally revealing tops for the women. The gentleman in the middle, on the other hand, had naught but some sheer fabric fluttering over his chest. His toned torso was on full display as all three began to sway in time with the music. The women led their movements with sways of their hips, but the man in the center had a different way about him. 

Compared to his fellow performers, the man was obviously not blessed with the same curves, and his dancing reflected that. His hips still moved in time with the rhythm, but they seemed to undulate rather than jut out from one side to another. It was no more vulgar in and of itself, but Claude noted that the man had a self-satisfied smirk on his face that somehow made it seem so. 

Speaking of his face, Claude could’ve sworn it was one he’d seen before. From where he stood though, wedged behind so many other bodies that partially obscured his view, he couldn’t quite identify the familiar dancer. Nader, standing at his side, looked away from the show long enough to notice Claude’s intense stare. 

“Kid, they’re dancers. You can shut your brain off and stop trying to analyze and evaluate everything for a minute, y’know.” 

“The one in the middle, though, the man. Where have I seen his face?” 

“Beats me! You dreaming of pretty boys again?” 

Claude stiffened a bit at that, caught off-guard just a bit by bow brazenly Nader could speak sometimes. He’d hoped he’d come to expect that by now, but apparently not. Thankfully the music and show had enraptured just about everyone within earshot. “Nader, the next time I want to make any form of official announcement, I think I’ll just tell it to you in confidence. That’s a surefire way to make sure it spreads like wildfire.” 

Another uproarious laugh in response. Claude simply did his best to block it out as he focused back on the man, still dancing. The performance had really amped up by now. Suddenly, Claude was acutely aware of just how long and powerful the man’s legs were. He was propelling himself up into the air with breathtaking leaps, landing with such grace and precision that could only be achieved with a lot of power and control in the feet and thighs. 

While up in the air, Claude got a better look at his face. His hair was a striking red color, very messy. It was when he was leaping about though that those red locks flew out of the way for a moment, revealing more of him. That shit-eating grin was still there, even amidst such acrobatic feats. True to form for a dancer, he seemed to be giving out the impression that he was absolutely reveling in having so much attention just glued to him. 

It was a pretty fair analysis. The crowd was absolutely eating the show up. A steady stream of gold pieces began to be thrown at the group’s feet, quickly amassing quite a pretty pile. Claude might’ve worried that one of them would end up slipping, if they didn’t deftly step around each coin with inhuman grace. No wonder Dimitri had taken an interest in this little band. They were impeccable. 

Dimitri. Claude thought back to him as he continued to stare at the dancer, who must’ve noticed. Suddenly he was throwing a fair few longing glances to the king. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Claude to put two and two together. Dimitri and this man. He’d seen them together before. Both a few years back, and more recently. 

The Academy dining hall. Mock battles between classes. Old and recent battles at Gronder Field. Faerghus aiding the Alliance at Derdriu. Memories rushed back to him as he finally pieced things together. 

Sylvain. Sylvain Jose Gautier. 

He wasn’t among Claude’s classmates when they’d been at Garreg Mach, but Claude had spoken with him a few times. Not to mention heard through the grapevine about the many incidents Sylvain had run into with girls from each and every class. Now, here he was, dancing in the capital of Almyra like he’d been doing it since birth. 

This was honestly the last place Claude had expected to see him. Sylvain was a noble, he remembered. Even if Dimitri had taken to ruling over Fódlan as a whole, Faerghus lords still ruled over their individual territories. Claude was no stranger to stories of Fódlan nobles abandoning such opportunities to pursue their passions, though. Dancing just wasn’t one of those passions he’d picture a noble heir pursuing. 

Credit where credit was due, though, Sylvain was a marvel of his craft. The ways that he moved were captivating, and suddenly Claude found himself watching with more than just a passing interest. His eyes were stuck to Sylvain as the man moved, those long limbs contorting in the most perplexing ways that Claude wouldn’t think possible. How in the world did he get his leg parallel to his torso like that? Never mind that, how did he do it with only one foot, and en pointe? 

With the way he was staring so intently now, there was no way Sylvain hadn’t noticed. He was suddenly glancing Claude’s way even more often while he moved. He was still shifting his eyes around the crowd, of course, as any established dancer would. But he always drifted back. Claude had to wonder if Sylvain was feeling the same way he was, wondering why the Almyran king looked so familiar. 

Claude lost track of time fairly soon, not sure how much time was passing as he stared. The minutes were forgotten as quickly as the other performers while he simply watched Sylvain for the longest time. It couldn’t have been very long, though, as the crowd’s excitement hadn’t even seemed to have waned when the dancers finally convened together for a final move. 

With the two women on either side of him. Sylvain steeled himself and bent slightly at the knees, holding his arms out to either side of him, palms up. It was an odd position, but one that made sense as the other dancers suddenly sidled up against him. They braced their legs against his arms, which were then locked in place as he gripped them tightly. All three smiled as Sylvain straightened up again, carrying his fellow dancers while striking a final pose. 

When the audience began to whoop and holler, Claude was clapping and grinning from ear to ear right alongside them. He’d have to have a gift of some sort sent to Dimitri after all this had wrapped up. He’d enjoyed this more than he’d expected to. 

* * *

While he wanted to offer his praise to the performers personally, Claude wasn’t surprised that they were quickly swarmed by troops hoping to offer even more coin and complimentary words. As such, he was content to let them enjoy collecting gold from the drunken masses. 

He’d retired to the barrels of mead for a drink when Claude felt a presence behind him. He turned with his mug in hand, expecting to find Nader, only to come face to face with Sylvain. 

“Pardon me, your highness. I was hoping to thank you for your hospitality. The evening has been exceptional thus far.” 

Claude only blinked in response. Gods only knew when he’d last spoken to Sylvain, but he didn’t recall such formality from him. Sylvain had always seemed fairly flippant, and in a way Claude understood. The kind of exaggerated disregard for societal expectations that was the perfect way to draw people’s attention and keep it where you wanted. It was a calculated move, a conscious decision. He definitely saw through this little trick. 

“You may thank me, Sylvain, though I hope you’ll drop the formalities in exchange. We’ll both enjoy ourselves more if you do.” To some, that may have come across as aggressive or accusatory. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case with Sylvain. The man merely smiled, visibly relaxing once Claude referred to him by name. 

“Ha. So, you haven’t forgotten the good old days, and the Almyran throne hasn’t changed you a bit. Good. Nobility shouldn’t instill self-importance in a person.” With relaxation came an entire overhaul of Sylvain’s demeanor. He’d looked like an untouchable warrior with all eyes on him. Now, though? He was a person again. Entirely approachable, even with his choice of attire. Attire that Claude had to desperately force himself to avoid staring at. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say nothing’s changed. There’s a few things that I’d say are a marked improvement.” 

Sylvain quirked an eyebrow in response, suddenly reaching up to graze Claude’s facial hair with one finger. “I guess you’re right about that. This is new. I think I like it. Not entirely sure about this yet, though. I’ll get back to you on it.” It was a light touch, but Claude actually shivered at it. Gods. Him, shivering, really? He and human touch hadn’t really been a thing in quite a while. 

“It’s an acquired taste. I’m sure you’ve noticed it’s a popular style among Almyran men, but I’m aware it might be a bit of a culture shock.” Claude wasn’t sure how perceptive Sylvain was, but he made a point to play it cool anyway. It took a bit of effort to keep his voice even with that finger still tracing his cheek, but he managed it in the end. “As far as transformations go, though, I might be more impressed by a knight of Faerghus ending up in what must be the continent's most esteemed group of performers.” 

Sylvain finally backed off, retracting his hand and looking away while he snickered. “Is that what Dimitri says about us? He’s too generous. Vivian and Carissa are the ones who really keep us afloat, I’m just here trying to appeal to the other half of the market.” The statement was accompanied by a wink, but not one that left Claude feeling particularly charmed. Not like he had when Sylvain did the same thing during the dance. 

“I don’t know why you insist on acting so modest, even now. You’re aware we all just saw you leap about three feet in the air several times, right? And that’s not even saying anything about the actual dancing.” 

Sylvain’s gaze stayed off to the side, but Claude noted the color in his cheeks. So, neither of them was quite acclimated to the challenge of accepting any sort of praise. Useful information. When he spoke, it was clear he was eager to downplay Claude’s praise. “Ha, throwing myself up in the air is just kinda my gimmick. Got a lot of power in my lower-body, as it turns out.” 

He finally turned his head, looking at Claude straight-on again. “Back when we were studying in Garreg Mach, I started out as a cavalier. I was good with the horses.” Yes, Claude definitely remembered that much. Marianne had certainly attested to running into him there, and doing her damnedest to fly under Sylvain’s radar each time. “All that riding must’ve been good for the legs. When Professor Manuela was helping me practice for that dancing competition, she told me to harness that strength and never let it fade.” 

Ah, the White Heron Cup. More memories. Including Lorenz’s unfortunate loss, even after all of Manuela’s careful tutelage. Still, considering the performance he’d just seen, Claude would be hard pressed to try and question Sylvain’s win now. “You must’ve taken that to heart. Gautier territory is in the hands of someone else, then?” 

“Yeah, left that with the old man. I never thought I’d find something else I cared enough about to follow, but the professor ended up surprising me.” Sylvain smiled then, a genuine one. The differences between that smile and the performative smirk he’d been wearing all night were subtle, but Claude noticed them all the same. The way that the legitimate smile caused Sylvain’s eyes to crinkle at the corners was just one of them. “Some people thought I was crazy. Maybe so. It’s kind of a stupid thing to throw away your entire life for.” 

“I wouldn’t call it stupid at all.” 

Another pause from Sylvain, another brief moment with that real smile before lapsing back into his typical showboat act. “Well, thank you. I’m sure you get it, seeing as how you left the Reigan territory.” He spared a look around the courtyard, taking in the luxury of the space that surrounded them. Almyra wasn’t a country of much excess, but a modest palace was still a palace. “I guess some people might call this an upgrade from Leicester, though.” 

“Maybe so. I’ve tried to infuse a little bit of Leicester into Almyra since I took the throne though. Plus the rest of Fódlan too. Hence the theme of the evening!” Claude gestured around them, obviously referring to all the imported goods. Sylvain had of course noticed the familiar cuisine when he’d approached Claude, but assumed it was some sort of similar Almyran fare. He wouldn’t have guessed it was all a part of some intricate theming. “Your group is a part of that too. Good food is second only to pretty people when it comes to successful cultural diffusion, it seems.” 

Pretty? Sylvain could only laugh at that. “Been a long time since someone called me that. Usually I just get grief from Felix about how I could be if I kept up with waxing.” He ran his knuckles over his chest, clearly referring to the sparse amount of hair there. Unlike most male dancers Claude had seen, Sylvain kept things a little more natural. He had fuzz on the exposed parts of his chest and thighs, and a treasure trail that disappeared under his coin belt that Claude had most certainly not gawked at at any point. 

“I suppose most dancers I see are more smooth, but I think you make it work. Plus, the red hair and the purple costume compliment each other.” A costume the color of the night sky, combined with hair the color of the sunset. Claude couldn’t be convinced that wasn’t an intentional move on the part of whoever had designed the outfit. Whoever they were, they must’ve been brilliant. 

A silent moment passed between them, the comfortable kind where a break in the conversation was natural and didn’t beg to be filled. A thought nagged at Claude during that silence, though. A thought about something Sylvain had said. “You mentioned a Felix. Is that the same Felix I’m thinking of?” 

“Oh, yeah. Once the war had ended, the poor guy still didn’t wanna put down his sword. Luckily, I knew a traveling troupe that could always use a little extra protection while roaming those remote roads out there.” With that, Sylvain turned, stepping aside to let Claude see someone in the crowd that had been blocked from his line of sight before. Sure enough, another familiar face was glaring at the two of them from just a short distance away. 

Claude’s eyes met his suddenly, and Felix looked away. After a moment though, he looked up again, suddenly beginning to approach the two of them. 

“Sylvain. Is he paying for a private dance?” Felix spoke as if Claude wasn’t standing right in front of him, looking to Sylvain while merely gesturing to the king. Sylvain snickered at the notion, while Claude steeled his poker face yet again in an effort to avoid looking as floored by the question as he felt. 

“Not quite. Just reminiscing about old times. We went to school with him, you know.” 

“I know.” Felix finally looked at Claude directly, looking as unimpressed as any person could while face to face with a monarch. “Stick to business, Sylvain.” 

Ah, business, of course. Gold was the root of it all, when it came down to it. “If you’re looking to talk business, I’m amenable to that.” That was enough to recapture both Sylvain and Felix’s attention, both men looking to him. Felix’s eyes were skeptical, but Sylvain’s looked comparatively hopeful. “I’m always looking for foreign performers to highlight at more than just victory celebrations. If you’d like, I can keep your troupe funded for a few more stops around the capital and some surrounding areas.” 

That was most definitely not something Claude had thought out ahead of time. Realistically, he probably should’ve looked at the logistics of what he could make happen before promising something like that. Oh well. He was a king, it’s not like he wouldn’t be able to get clearance for them to appear at even just a few places around Almyra. 

Luckily, the offer seemed to catch their attention. Felix’s expression in particular softened as he seemed to consider the offer. Troupes such as theirs depended on gigs such as these, after all. And it wasn’t every day the offer came from a royal with undoubtedly deep pockets that was able to fund it. 

After a moment, Felix finally spoke. “We’ll discuss it with the troupe later tonight.” His attention then turned to Sylvain, fixing him with an irritated sort of stare. “I’m going to check in with the others. Don’t make any offers for free services” 

“Yes, mother.” 

“And don’t be an ass.” Felix huffed a bit as he walked away again. The familiarity between the two seemed to imply this was a conversation they had often. Whatever services Sylvain might have been offering, Claude did his best not to dwell on thoughts of what they might be. 

Sylvain looked back to Claude with a grin, yet again looking hopeful about the prospect of a continued working relationship. At least as much of a working relationship as some dancers and a king that funded them could hope to have. “Well, I guess we might be seeing more of each other soon!” 

“I should hope so. You all could be an incredibly valuable asset in the continued work on my goals.” Realistically, Claude had some less altruistic reasons to be excited about the potential partnership, but that was neither here nor there. 

“I’ll make sure to emphasize during our meeting. In the meantime, please enjoy the rest of your evening, your majesty.” Cocky bastard that he was, Sylvain went so far as to give Claude a small bow before departing. Being treated like a king by dignitaries was one thing, but he was unaccustomed to such treatment from old peers. Sylvain was probably fully aware of that, though. 

It was while watching Sylvain saunter away that Claude remembered why he’d wandered over here in the first place. The mug of mead in his hand had gone entirely forgotten for the duration of that conversation. That along with everything else around him. Well, at least he could still enjoy it now. 

“There you are, kiddo! What were you and that oh-so-familiar dancer chatting about? You finally figured out who he is?” 

Nader’s sudden arrival was as surprising as it was merciful. Just a minute earlier and he might’ve spoiled the moment. “Yes, in fact. He was an old friend. One I’m glad I got a chance to reconnect with.” 

As good as Claude’s poker face was, Nader was one of the very few individuals with the capacity to look past it. He leaned in a little closer, fixing Claude with a suspicious stare. “Hm. I get the feeling that there’s more to it than that.” 

More? That was an interesting possibility. Claude finally lifted the mug to his lips, savoring the first chance he’d had all night to enjoy a drink. “Maybe so. Not sure what, yet. That’ll all be up to the gods of chance.” 


End file.
